


Eggshells

by Natasha_Barton



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, One Shot, Undercover Mission, affectionate assassins, fic request, otp: a couple of master assassins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Barton/pseuds/Natasha_Barton
Summary: Nat and Clint are undercover and under stress
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Eggshells

After a third day of fruitless negotiations, Natasha and Clint were escorted back to their hotel room in Cuernavaca, Mexico. A month prior, Fury had found a lead on some missing Stark tech and started coaching them on their latest identities: arms dealer Renata Alvez and her bodyguard Sebastian Burke. Their attention to detail was impeccable, their execution flawless, but the seller had already dragged the process out longer than necessary, and they’d yet to see proof of possession.

Nat sunk down into the bed, a chorus of old springs creaking beneath her, and removed her curly brown wig. She flung it towards the empty dresser before laying back and closing her eyes.

“I want to go home,” she murmured in a voice not quite her own.

“Mmhmm.” Clint gently moved her hand, placing her palm just above her bellybutton, and sat down beside her. “Wanna take that thing off? Not that Renata isn’t _attractive_ , but I’d rather see you.”

“Oh, right.” Natasha peeled away the disguise tech. “Better?”

“Much.” Clint smiled down at her. “Ready for today’s news?”

“Do we have to?” she groaned.

“Absolutely. You and Nick demoted me to sidekick, this is my _one thing_ I get to do for you.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through messages and news articles. “Okay, so Tony fell asleep in his workshop last night, which meant no one was watching Dum-E, who almost cost Stark more than just a few suits. If Pepper hadn’t gone through while we were in Berlin and installed enough fire safety devices to equip a small city, it might’ve been a total loss. Not that Stark’s quips and nicknames would’ve been missed, but we’re grateful all the same.

“Next up, Steve discovered _cronuts_ and won’t stop talking about them. Sam’s already sent ‘SOS’ and ‘I’ve made a grave mistake,’ as well as about a thousand of those angry swearing emojis. I’d say he’s having just about as much fun as we are.

“Thor’s still off-world doing whatever the hell it is he does out there, so I guess we’ll have to wait to hear about his misguided antics until he returns. Did you know,” he turned to face her, setting his phone on the sheets, “he once asked me how to use the _toaster?_ I mean, the guy can _fly_ , for fucks sake, he spouts off about how human technology is ‘ _so_ primitive,’ yet the process of placing sliced bread into a slot and pushing down a lever was beyond his grasp. He’s entertaining, but _damn_ , he is not as smart as—”

“Can you shut up for _once_ in your life?” Nat snapped, her eyes scrunched closed. It was then that Clint noticed how taut her muscles were, how her shoulders were creeping up toward her ears.

“Y-yeah. I’ll just… go read or something.”

Clint wanted to help, to offer a back rub or something, but they’d been together long enough for him to know she needed space and silence. She was stressed and upset, not that he could blame her; Nick had sent them off on a “long weekend” sort of trip that was anything but. He could’ve had them on a five-hour flight to Mexico City, which would put them roughly half an hour from their hotel, but he’d vetoed that plan in favor of something more authentic to their cover story. So they took a four-hour flight to Houston, walked nearly 45 minutes to the rental car, and then drove over 17 hours to Cuernavaca. A day and a half one way, all for some fucking _authenticity_. Anyone would be stressed after that.

Clint grabbed a book from his suitcase and slipped out to the shaded balcony despite strict instructions to stay inside the room. The building was surrounded by their contact’s guards, but he figured the odds of being shot for disobeying orders were about the same no matter which side of the door he chose, and he’d much rather risk his life without irritating Nat; although, she _would_ be fairly mad at him if he died. She always teased that the coroner would be able to list “stupidity” as his official cause of death.

He paged through his book for a while, doing his best to stick to shadows and the guards’ blind spots as they circled, and decided it was finally safe enough to go back in. As soon as he opened the sliding door, he heard the shower running and Nat faintly humming a tune he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t quite nine, but Clint knew Nat’s routines well enough to know she’d be ready to pull the curtains and turn in for the night after combing her hair.

Clint was also acutely aware that after their spat, he was uninvited from sharing the king-sized bed, a reality he was almost always prepared for. Hidden in the lining of his suitcase was a sleeping bag designed for missions requiring outdoor reconnaissance—lightweight, durable, thermal lined—though he mainly used it for nights like this, resigned to sleeping on a cold floor thinly covered by rough carpet. At least it was midsummer, a combination of the baking sun and lack of functioning air conditioning had kept the entire room warmer than he was accustomed to.

Honestly, Clint could fall asleep just about _anywhere_ , it didn’t matter if he was particularly comfortable or not; as long as the ever-present exhaustion pressed against the back of his eyes, he could sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was noise or stress over aggravating his partner, but something woke him several hours after they’d settled down for the night. At first, he kept his eyes closed, willed himself back to the warm embrace of sleep, but instinctual worry nagged at him. With a suppressed sigh, he gave up and looked around the cramped space.

Natasha was standing at the sliding door, the edge of the fraying curtain balled in her fist, moonlight spilling across her face through the gap in the fabric. Clint sat up slowly in an effort to not startle her.

“Nat? Why are you awake?”

“I… I don’t know.” She shook her head and turned around to face him. “I guess I’m just having trouble sleeping tonight.”

“Is this about the job? Because I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon, they have to trust us at some point.”

“No, Barton, I don’t think this is about the job.” Nat smiled softly and let the curtain fall closed, plunging them into darkness. He could hear her pad over to the bed, the springs protesting as she sat on the edge. Under normal circumstances, she was hard to track, nearly silent, as if she barely touched a thing, but the longer they were together, the more weight she seemed to put into her movements, like she didn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells around him. He followed the sound and settled in next to her.

“Are we okay?” Clint’s voice was rough and low. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask. She had called him _Barton_ , for fuck’s sake.

Nat was quiet for far longer than he would’ve liked, but she laid her head on his shoulder as she pondered the question.

“We’re okay, I think.”

“Is it something I did, or—”

“Oh, no, I’m—” she took deep breath and exhaled agonizingly slowly, “I’m sorry, it’s me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier; I don’t even know how you put up with me.”

Clint couldn’t suppress a chuckle, his shaking shoulders causing Nat to sit up straight again. Although his eyes hadn’t adjusted quite enough to see her features yet, he felt her quizzical stare that he was so intimately familiar with.

“Did I say something funny?”

“‘ _Put up with’_ you? Really, Nat? I _put up with_ Tony and his personal brand of chaotic insanity. I _put up with_ Fury’s absurd paranoia, the difficulties of the job, the long nights, the constant risk of harm, but _you?_ My god, do you think I’d still be here, going on missions, just the two of us, if I couldn’t handle the stressed arguments?”

“I—”

“And this was _nothing_ , Nat! You snapped at me, so what? To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised you don’t yell at me more often. I’m _obnoxious_.”

“No, you’re—you know what? You are kind of obnoxious.” Nat laughed quietly and placed a hand on his stubbled cheek. “But you’re _my_ obnoxious partner, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Agreed.” Clint gently pressed into her palm and smiled, relief washing over him. “Now go back to bed, I have a feeling we’ll be heading home tomorrow.” He stood and started toward his sleeping bag, but Nat snagged his wrist.

“Only if you’ll join me.”

Resting comfortably in Clint’s arms. Natasha quickly fell back asleep, content, safe. Even though this was their usual arrangement, Clint savored every second of it, letting the rise and fall of Nat’s chest, the slow, steady breaths lull him until unconsciousness took over. No matter where their missions brought them, this was home.


End file.
